


home is where you are

by Herwhereabouts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herwhereabouts/pseuds/Herwhereabouts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff is traded to the Kings, and Mike doesn't know what to do with himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	home is where you are

**Author's Note:**

> A little ficlet I wrote today to kind of gather my thoughts on the Carts/Richards bromance that makes all other bromances weep with envy. Or something. Also, this has not been looked over by anyone else, so all mistakes are mine. I know it's tame and lulzy, but whatever, dude. Mike Richards has a lot of deep feelings about this, okay!

 

The jumbled cognitive dissonance swirling through Mike's head is a little unsettling. When he finds out that Jeff is traded to the Kings officially, it takes every ounce of willpower that he possesses to not let out a whoop and honk his car horn at random drivers. He has been pushing and pushing for a trade since the beginning of the season; right after he left for training camp and said goodbye to Jeff, who had looked sick and hollow-eyed.

It's stupid how much Mike cares and it pisses him off that teams have that kind of power over their players, but he can't help it. Jeff has been his best buddy since they met in juniors. It was the worst feeling in the world, when he found out that Philly had traded Jeff, last summer. He'd practically strong-armed Jeff into signing a ridiculously long-term contract at a discount. (The fact that Mike was also traded half an hour later makes it even more hilarious.) He'd pretty much felt constantly guilty that entire summer, even after he'd arrived in L.A. and taken in the sights.

Like, it was one thing, living in L.A. and playing for a semi-respectable team like the Kings; it was another thing entirely for Jeff to go to Columbus and waste away his prime years there. Nobody deserves that. Even some of the lamer douchebags in the league don't deserve that fate.

So when Mike has texts pouring in, one after another, he has to pull his car to the side of the road and get his shit together. His hands might shake – a little if at all – when he starts scrolling through them and immediately sends a congratulatory,  _:D! Fuck yeah buddy!_ to Jeff, and a solemn,  _fuck, jj, that sucks so bad D: sorry, man,_ to Jack.

Mike can feel Arnold's totally apathetic and judgmental gaze measuring him up from where he's chilling in the passenger's side, but Mike doesn't care. This is big. This is _huge_. Mike can't believe that he's going to get another chance to play with Jeff and try to win the cup with him. It was one of the main reasons why Mike re-signed with Philly in the first place.

It's tough to control his emotions and make the drive home without spazzing out like a total goof, but he somehow manages it. It's harder still to ignore some of the texts he receives from his friends; saying ridiculous things like, _your soulmate is back, bro! You must be puuuuumped!_ , or,  _you're gonna pick him up from the airport, right? Don't be ashamed to cry when you do_ , with a double dose of,  _the bromance lives on! Fuck you Holmgren!_

Mike tries to behave like a normal person and not, like, throw a party for Jeff when he arrives in L.A. That might be weird or send the wrong message. Or something.

It seems like in no time at all, the very next day, Jeff is on a flight and coming to L.A. to ruin Mike's life in the best way possible. Mike manages to text his address to Jeff without making it overly dramatic. He thinks about using a few happy emoticons, but ultimately decides against it. 

Mike starts walking around his house and cleaning stuff up like a total loser, and what makes it even worse is the fact that he doesn't feel any shame as he hums and does the dishes. Hopefully it's just a temporary short-circuit of the faculties.

Arnold, of course, sedately trails Mike as he buzzes around, and seems to be just a little bit curious by Mike's general enthusiastic flailing.

When the doorbell rings and knocking accompanies it, Mike feels like he's going to be sick for a quick second, but then he remembers that he's Mike Richards, for fuck's sake, and cowering in the hallway would be a total pussy move.

He leisurely makes his way down the stairs and to the front door in a totally appropriate manner of calmness. And almost as though Arnold senses something urgent, he nudges by Mike with a quick burst of speed and beats him to the door. Arnold starts whining and pawing at the doorknob and Mike can't help but smile.

The second he opens the door, Arnold shows an uncharacteristic display of emotion by jumping out at Jeff and pawing at his chest, and immediately begins to happily nose and lick Jeff.

Jeff laughs and pets him for a few seconds, and Mike simply rolls his eyes and drags the both of them inside.

Jeff says, “Hey,” all out of breath and grinning, and Mike feels like throwing up at how happy that makes him. It's such a disconcertingly problematic feeling, being so glad (so relieved), but whatever. They're allowed.

Mike simply says, “Hi,” and drags Jeff in for a hug. If there is more clutching than hugging going on, Mike won't make fun of Jeff for it later. There's no telling what kind of emotional damage he has suffered for the past few months. Mike is going to be a good guy and help him through it.

Mike clears his throat and pulls back, and can't help but blurt out, “Dude. You look like a crunchy orange cheetoh that has been exposed to toxic levels of radiation.”

Jeff punches him in the shoulder and drops his bags. “I'm, like, practically considered pale here, asshole.”

Mike snorts. “That would be too orange even for the cast of _Jersey Shore_ , Carts, sorry to say.”

Jeff nuzzles Arnold – who is behaving like a total kiss-ass and pretending to be all bouncy and agreeable when he's so _not_ – and casts a quick look at Mike to glare, which is so unfair. “You need to show Arnie more affection. Poor guy,” Jeff says.

There are so many things that Mike wants to say, but instead he points a finger at Arnold and growls, “ _You_ are the abso _lute_ worst. Faker,” and goes to the kitchen in a dramatic huff.

They eat take-out later on and talk about everything. It's almost like they haven't been talking to each other at all (three times a week, if they could), and Mike realizes what bullshit it is, trying to keep in touch long distance. It's no real substitute at all.

When Jeff falls asleep on the couch, with Arnold tucked into his side, Mike feels like all the good feelings in the world have taken residence in his chest and lit a match.

Mike silently putters around and picks up Jeff's discarded jacket, his shoes, his bags – all the little things that signify how everything is new in a way it hasn't been for a long time. It's creepy, Mike admits, but he spends a minute just looking at Jeff and cataloguing every real and imaginary change.

By the time he's done creeping, Mike is too tired to do much else, so he grabs a blanket for Jeff and throws it over him.

Mike likes the fact that he has a decade to figure it all out, again.

Hopefully.

 

 ~end~


End file.
